Beauty and the Repulsive Little Scab
by Jane Owen
Summary: Disgusted by his cowardice, Jareth curses Hoggle to an eternity devoid of friendship as a dwarf, unless he is able to win the love of one with a brave heart. But what if the one Hoggle needs, is the one Jareth wants? Jareth/Sarah with a side of Hoggle.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Hi all. First I wanted to thank you all for taking the time to read this. It came to me a while back and I wasn't planning on putting it up here until **Taste of Magic** was complete, but **startraveller776** convinced me it would be okay to have two works in progress up at one time. So I polished this up. I think it is a little different…maybe. It is fairly difficult to come up with something completely new in this fandom so I apologize if something like this has been done before. The prologue is a little longer than I typically like, however the background is pretty important to this story so I hope you will indulge me.

And as always, PLEASE review. I will update regardless of how many reviews I get, but all writers will agree, reviews encourage us to work faster! :-D I will even give you a topic: I tried to incorporate a lot of subtle glimpses into the film into this chapter...see how many of them you can catch! :-D

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><p><strong> **Cursed** <strong>

"Fall back!"

The signal for retreat was drowned by unnatural cries of pain as a flash of brilliant orange fire erupted in the shadows of the forest, producing a wall of heat. The flames wouldn't stop the advancing hoard for long—merely slowing the beasts until Maguire could create more to fill their charred ranks—but perhaps it would give the king and his men some reprieve. Even an hour's rest could make the difference between freedom and eternal slavery.

Jareth wiped the perspiration from his forehead and squinted into the surrounding darkness. The midday sun should be at its peak, yet the sky was a smoky black; though not from the spells he had cast. The eerie mist that covered the battlefield was another attack released by Maguire's creatures upon their death. It was a backup chemical agent, meant to destroy whomever the beast had not. The acid-like substance melted away skin on contact, spreading like a rash until the person was completely liquefied, leaving only their clothing behind. Jareth's front lines had been destroyed by the gruesome substance within minutes of the first assault. The only cure, once one had been contaminated by it, was to remove the offending body part immediately—better to lose an arm than one's life. It was a stroke of luck when the king discovered that fire neutralized the mist; however the heat caused it to rise into the clouds, filling the air with the unique stench of vomit, death, and bodily fluids, combined with the sickly sweet scent of wilted roses and burnt cedar. It was not a smell that could accurately be described…or forgotten.

But the mist was not on Jareth's mind as he searched through the ever darkening haze. During the latest spell cast, he had lost sight of Prince Rameth. The prince was like a brother to him; Jareth's most valued friend and confidant. They had been through everything together. He would never forgive himself if Rameth didn't make it home.

Thankfully, that would not be the case. There was just enough light for Jareth to make out the silhouette of Prince Rameth less than three yards away, his sword poised above his head, daring one of the monsters to come forward—it would not be the first time one of the creatures had escaped an inferno. Seeing Rameth nearby calmed Jareth's soul. His friend was alive and well.

"You won't be able to maintain that stance for long," Jareth admonished his longtime companion, moving to stand beside him. "Come, rest my friend. Give your adrenalin a break." He clapped Rameth on the back as his sword lowered in response. Even in the darkness, the whites of Rameth's eyes shone wide with fear. He needed to rest. He wasn't used to the battlefield as Jareth was. "Let's go to the tent. There will be plenty of food and water there to replenish both of us. We'll need the energy when they actually do come back."

Prince Rameth hung his head in shame as they began the short walk back to camp; embarrassed to show weakness in front of the man he'd long idolized. He knew every man was needed in this fight—Maguire collected souls as others collect fine wine. The cost of losing this battle wasn't death, but an eternity of mindless servitude. Every man in Jareth's army knew the cost of failure meant their families would become toys for a psychopath. And when he was through with _them_, he would have the key to the world Above: Jareth. As keeper of both realms, it was imperative that the Gatekeeper King not just survive, but destroy Maguire and his demons.

But Rameth had not been brought up as a battle lord like Jareth. Rameth's kingdom was small; hardly worthy of the name, _kingdom._ Without enough men to form their own army, Rameth's father had raised him to depend on the treasury for his security. If a fight was to be had, a mercenary was to be bought. What little skill he had with a blade was founded in his childhood as a game. He never thought he'd actually have to use those skills! Gold and jewels were all Rameth knew.

And he was terrified.

Jareth continued leading his friend through the blood-splattered battlefield back to the camp. Bodies of his men lie intermixed with the _things_ Maguire had conjured. The two men walked around them as if they were merely boulders in the landscape. It would have been simpler to transport the two of them directly to their encampment, but Jareth needed to reserve his magic. A plan had begun to form in the back of his mind. It was a long shot, but the weary faces of his men combined with their dwindling numbers told him that time was running short.

The light—though still dim—had changed from a "moonless night" to a "middle of a storm" darkness as they drew closer to the refreshment tent set aside for the captains. Passing through the camp, soldiers stood in respect for the royals, recognizing that their hope for survival rested on these two men. Many of the soldiers were here upon Rameth's request. If it weren't for their presence, the battle would have been lost long ago. The king nodded back in gratitude for their sacrifice.

Entering the tent, the two men were nearly blinded by the lamp light as contrasted with the unnatural darkness outside. Blinking his eyes, Jareth gestured for Rameth to eat while he spoke to the men. "My captains, gather round. We haven't much time. In a few moments I will set out to strike the final blow on Maguire and his troops. The spell I intend to use will require my full strength and concentration. As I will be indisposed, it is imperative that none of Maguire's… _creations_… get close enough to attack." Several captains nodded in understanding. As the only powerful spell caster in the army, Jareth was their most valuable asset. For him to fall would be their death.

Jareth continued, looking at each captain in turn as they were addressed, "Prince Rameth's men will form a protective guard circling me. Garrison, you will lead the infantry out front to form a wall against whatever breaks through that forest. That wall _must_ hold. Jamason, your archers will be positioned behind us on the hillside offering aerial support. Should Maguire's army make it through the infantry, I want you to signal the retreat of the rest of the camp." The men he referenced nodded in agreement, already forming individual plans to ensure success.

Jareth looked around until he spotted the third man he needed off to the side, eyes taking everything in. He was new to the ranks, but the king had never seen a man so devoted to the cause. "You, Sir Didymus," Jareth pointed to the spindly red-headed captain of the cavalry. The young man seemed almost surprised to be part of the conversation, yet stood straighter in response. "You and your cavalry will be of utmost importance in ensuring none make it to the inner circle. Should they reach Prince Rameth's men, my concentration will be broken and all will be lost. You _must_ hold them back. None may pass without _your_ permission. Do you understand?"

Sir Didymus stared into the crystal blue eyes of his king and bowed his head. "We will hold them back, Sire. It is an honor to fight for you, my liege."

Jareth nodded slightly in return and then addressed the remaining captains, "Everyone else must stay in camp. Should I fail, you are to return home and protect your families. That is an order!" he commanded as murmurs of dissent ran circles around the tent. "Should I be lost, your _only_ hope is to flee. Attempt to hide in the mountains. Hide in the caves. Hide anywhere! Do _NOT_ be caught. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Sir!" was the immediate response though few were comfortable with that line of thought.

"Good." Jareth stood and waved Rameth over to him. His friend returned with some fruit and a canteen of enhanced water, which Jareth gratefully accepted. The rest of the captains began gathering up supplies in preparation to leave. It wouldn't be long now.

Taking a bite from a peach, Jareth spoke so that only Rameth could hear. "I am counting on you, Rameth. Should all work according to plan, this will be over in a few hours. Can I trust your men to keep me safe?"

Rameth nodded his head silently in agreement.

Satisfied, Jareth pushed open the tent flaps and strode outside to address the army one last time before the final battle. His soldiers were shadows as his eyes readjusted to the dim light. "Men! You have all fought bravely. We have seen things we could never imagine. We have _smelled_ things we could never imagine!" The men dutifully laughed with their king and Jareth was satisfied he had lightened the mood somewhat. "It is time for one final blow. One last time to put this madman to rest. I am going to ask you to fight harder than you ever have before, but when it is over, you will know _you_ saved your wives. Your sons. Your daughters. _You_ will be the hero. Our very lives depend on you today. Are you man enough to fight with me?" The cheer that erupted spoke volumes of their devotion to their king and to finishing the fight.

It was time to go.

They moved in a solemn silence; the cadence of the soldiers' soft-soled boots as they followed behind their king was muffled by the long, well-trampled vegetation. Sir Didymus' cavalry made even less noise as if the horses themselves knew the seriousness of the task before them. Behind them, the soldiers worked to clear the camp, preparing for a quick retreat; before them rose the hill where Jareth would stage his attack. The battlefield was not far from their camp and to men going to face their death, the march was over way too soon.

As was the plan, Garrison's men went on ahead, almost to the edge of the forest. They knew not what they would face, but they stood with honor; their metal breastplates attracting what little light was available so that they seemed to glow against the trees. These soldiers could only hope that their king was able to perform his spell before Maguire loosed his next round of monsters.

The cavalry stood at the edge of the hill in a line. Watching. Waiting. The horses were well trained. Most were black as a night without stars, but Didymus' mount was easy to see against the charcoal sky. Ambrosious was the jewel of the king's stables. Silver and white, he shone like a beacon against the evil that lie before them.

It was a sight that inspired courage in the men around him, but Jareth didn't take time to admire the view. Sitting gracefully on the mossy green hill, his platinum blond hair blowing freely in the wind, the king began forming his crystal. He trusted the men guarding him. Rameth would not let anything happen to him—especially when so many lives depended upon his success.

So the king sat, focused on the spell, oblivious to the growing tension surrounding him. He did not see when the first monster broke through the forest, though the men around him did. Like a mighty oak tree, the beast clamored forth, roaring with delight as it easily speared soldier after soldier with the three-foot long horn growing from its forehead. It took Jamason's archers multiple shots with flaming arrows before that animal was taken down.

The king did not see the creatures that followed—some with heads like that of an enormous insect, spitting acid at all within reach (including those fighting with them); others with legs like a gigantic tarantula tipped with spikes; and still others with the brute strength of giant gorillas merely crushing those who got in their way. The king's men fought bravely, dodging the mist where it dispersed and attacking anew. Jareth did not see the victories…or the defeats.

He did not see the first line of defense fall.

Jareth's spell was three quarters of the way completed when Sir Didymus' men charged. The sphere was fully formed, but the details were lacking. He only needed a little more time.

The men on horseback were a little more successful than their counterparts on foot had been. Their lances shot out before them, providing the distance necessary to avoid the reach of the giants. With the help of Jamason's archers, Didymus thought they might just have a chance. Ambrosious dove in and around the monsters, gracefully leaping out of the way of attack as Didymus drove his lance home time and time again. Yet the beasts kept on coming. There was no end to the wave of malformed creatures. One by one his company fell. But Didymus swore an oath that none would pass and he fully intended to keep that oath to the death.

Rising his eyes to the hill, Didymus prayed to the gods above that Jareth would finish soon. He could not hold on much longer. He searched for some evidence that all would be over before long and saw instead all hope dissipate.

Prince Rameth was gone. And so were his men.

His liege lord was left entirely unprotected in his trance-like state. He did not notice the 12-legged beast charging him. Without hesitation, Didymus did the only honorable thing he could do: he turned Ambrosious around and rode to his king's aid.

Ambrosious raced up the fog-shrouded hill and with the brute strength of a well-trained war horse, collided with the monster just before it struck. Didymus was thrown from his back, but he'd retained his sword and he was ready to use it. Ignoring the ache in his side where it had split upon a rock, Didymus charged at the creature, desperate to reach his king before it had a chance to attack.

As he got closer, he noticed that two of the twelve legs were not legs at all, but rather spiked maces. The clubs swung recklessly and Didymus dodged in and out, avoiding the tiny blades and swinging his sword at the monster's other legs. He connected, cutting off the leg at what could only be called a knee. A hiss of pain hung in the air as the monster renewed its aggression, attacking all the more fiercely. Although Didymus was quick, quantity won out over quality and he was struck a blow to the left side of his head, crippling him. The vision in his left eye blurred, Didymus watched helplessly as the monster turned his sights back on the king.

Just at that moment, Jareth stood, finally prepared to release his spell. Raising his arm in the air, Jareth blew on the crystal sending it floating high into the sky. But at the moment of its release, the monster moved into his peripheral vision and Jareth reacted without thinking. A new crystal was formed and a flame sent before Jareth himself knew what he was doing. The creature was instantly destroyed, but the damage had already been done. A new element had been introduced to his spell before it could be fully released.

The fallout would be great.

Once in the clouds, Jareth's spell was triggered. Lightning strikes rained down amidst the trees in the forest. Maguire would have been the first target amidst the unnatural electric storm, but he was not the last. An endless succession of lightning strikes continued to pour down, burning Maguire's army to ash. The clouds in the sky began circling and the changes began.

It started with the forest. Where once Maguire's army had been, the forest melted, forming a green sludge that concentrated the smell that had tainted the battlefield for days. The mist drained from the sky into its new container, creating a bog of sorts like none had ever seen.

But the changes in the land did not end there. Hedges grew where there once was stone. Patterns emerged within patterns, creating a protective barrier around his kingdom. An endless green maze filled his land as far as the eye could see.

If this was all that had occurred, Jareth would have proclaimed his spell a success. It had done what he had programmed it to do and nothing more. However, with the release of the fire spell, Maguire had secured a victory—albeit not what he had intended.

Jareth tried to stop it. He saw the wave before it hit and braced himself to ward it off. His hands spread wide, his left eye dilating with the effort, he created a shield around himself, but he was not strong enough to save even the heroic Sir Didymus from the fate ahead. The small blast of heat created when he shot the monster infused with the spell, sent out a shock wave and where it hit, the men and women were changed. When the wave finally stopped and the sky cleared, Jareth collapsed. It wasn't until much later that he realized what had become of his beloved kingdom.

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The war was over. Maguire was entombed in the foul-smelling slime of his making. The inhabitants of both worlds were safe for now. And what did Jareth have to show for this great victory? The dissolution of his once glorious kingdom.

Within the first month following the war, the freed nobility had wanted to thank the king for saving the Underground, but the first visitors were not prepared for the new inhabitants of the Portal Kingdom. They came one by one, expecting to see injured men and a broken city. They had not anticipated the creatures that now lived within castle walls. His _men_ had shriveled to the size of small children—as had their brains—their features distorted into wide mouths, wide noses, shrunken eyes, and every misshapen version therein. Hair grew in like fur. Jareth's once proud army had been obliterated. In its place stood bungling rodent men. _Scary_ bungling rodent men. They had become creatures of nightmares. Goblins.

Jareth, The Gatekeeper King, Ruler of the Portal Kingdom, key to both Above and Below, was now king of the goblins.

Many of the nobility who came to visit turned around before they had taken ten steps within the castle. Those with brains recognized that the goblin men meant them no harm, yet their discomfort at being near them was tangible. Their _thanks_ was given as briefly as possible with a promise to come to his aid should the need arise. How… considerate. Jareth would never see them within his walls again.

When Prince Rameth did not come on his own after a month of visitors, Jareth sent a messenger with a _request_ to visit the Portal King. Rameth did have some shred of honor. When the message arrived, he came immediately. He probably assumed Jareth would not enact the punishment to the full extent of the law. And when goblins met him at the front gate to escort him to their king, Prince Rameth did not cringe away as other nobility had.

As he walked the carpet leading to Jareth's throne, the king couldn't help but compare his longtime friend to the _goblins_ escorting him. Rameth had used a transportation stone and thus avoided the shockwave as it traveled through Jareth's kingdom. There was nothing physically wrong with Rameth. He wore his finest clothes, dressed for a day at court. His black hair was slicked back into a smooth ponytail at the nape of his neck. His eyes, nose, and ears in perfect symmetry. His olive complexion unmarred by even a single scratch.

It was not fair.

The punishment for desertion during a battle was death. Since Rameth had placed himself under Jareth's authority when he'd joined the war, Jareth had every right to enact that punishment—neighboring royalty or not. But Rameth had been his friend for as long as he could remember. He could not kill Rameth.

He had all but decided on fifteen years in the dungeons when Rameth began pleading his case, his head bowed in supplication. "Jareth, you must understand. Those men who fought with me were mercenaries. If they had died on that hill, their families would've been entitled to _quadruple_ their pay. Our treasury would have been emptied! If the war had been lost, we would have needed that money to protect ourselves from Maguire. As a fellow ruler, you must understand the need to provide for your people. Besides, the battle was won. You didn't need..."

"Enough!" Jareth thundered. "You _dare_ to speak about _treasure_ in comparison to _lives_ lost?"

Rameth looked up, startled by Jareth's vehemence. He had convinced himself that Jareth would pardon him. After all, Jareth _knew_ Rameth was not a battle lord. He _knew _his kingdom survived on the jewels in his treasury. They did not have an army to defend themselves. And Jareth had _won_! Maguire had been defeated. But, seeing the changes in his friend's face—his entire persona—he realized just how naïve he had been.

The king wore _black_. Never, in all the many decades they'd known one another, had Rameth seen him wear anything so ominous. Even on the battlefield Jareth had worn white—without ever getting a spot on him. His hair, though always somewhat unruly, now framed his face like a cascade of feathered daggers. The angles of his face had hardened, the jovial trickster of his youth replaced by a man carved of stone. And his eyes. The crystal blue of the sea in his right, and liquid gold in his left.

He had changed to fit his kingdom. He was not the same Jareth the prince had known. Rameth had made a huge mistake in coming.

Jareth smiled down on him, a menacing glint in his eyes and Rameth thought the king would strike him dead on the spot. Slowly Jareth rose from his throne and circled the man he'd once considered a brother. Rameth did not move a muscle.

"Dwarves," he said, his laughter mocking.

"Pardon?"

"Aw, Rameth, you do not listen to the stories the mortals tell as I do," Jareth said, clapping him on the shoulder. Leaning in, he spoke in a low voice, his hand spread out, framing an invisible scene only the king could see. "Dwarves live deep within mountains, mining for treasure. You remind me of a dwarf."

Rameth just stared at the king in confusion.

Jareth stepped back to stand before his throne, all traces of a smile—sincere or otherwise—vanished from his face. "Prince Rameth of the Golden Sea Kingdom, I hereby proclaim your punishment. Your crimes are as such: Desertion. Leaving your commanding officer to be killed." Rameth opened his mouth to protest—he truly had not thought that would happen! Jareth's spell interrupted and failing, yes. But Jareth was invincible! Jareth raised one gloved hand to silence him before continuing, "Desertion. Leaving your fellow soldiers to be killed." Rameth hung his head in shame. "Desertion. Interrupting a spell and cursing an entire kingdom," this last charge was practically growled between Jareth's teeth.

"For your _cowardice_, I curse you Prince Rameth." A crystal sphere began to form in Jareth's right palm as he spoke. "You will be turned as one of those creatures after which you model your behavior: a dwarf. You will no longer bear the title of prince. You will no longer walk in the counsel of kings. Your friends will despise you. You will be deserted as you deserted those when you were needed most.

"But, because of our friendship, I will be generous. If you are one day able to put another's needs before your own and in return earn the love of one whose heart is brave, I will release you of this curse." And without giving Rameth a chance to speak further in his defense, Jareth threw the crystal at his feet.

The once proud and handsome prince was transformed before his eyes. Rameth's thick, luxurious locks fell to the floor, replaced with patchy grey hair. His features distorted to comical, bulbous imitations. His head grew as his body shrunk and the man became a dwarf.

Jareth tilted his head and studied his handiwork. "One more thing before I send you to your duties. You shall have a new name. One that is fitting for swine such as yourself." He brought his finger to the bridge of his nose in thought. "Hmmm… Hog-gle. Your name shall be Hoggle." Rameth's head dropped even lower until Jareth was sure it would fall off due to the overwhelming size. "Yes. Hoggle. It is a very fitting name.

"I want you to know, _Hoggle_, that once I have removed you from this castle, I will forget I ever knew you. Prince Rameth is dead to me. I will no longer remember your name. You will become just another fairy sprayer to me." He paused and turned to face his throne. A crystal came rolling up to Rameth's feet from somewhere beneath Jareth's throne. "A coward is not worthy of a friend." And with that, Hoggle was transported to the gates, his memory all but forgotten.

It would be nearly a thousand years before someone would come along who could break the spell.

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But what no one knew was that the king of the goblins had fallen in love with the girl…


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N**: Hi. Wow. I cannot thank you enough for all the reviews and favorites! I was incredibly sick this last week with bronchitis and could barely keep my eyes open to type coherent review replies, and your reviews and favorites cheered me to no end. Thank you!

As for this chapter…it is another prologue of sorts. A transition chapter if you will. It sets the stage for where we will actually be in this story. I am not going to apologize though because I actually like this chapter. I hope you enjoy it as well.

Please let me know what you think! I'm still not 100% healthy—reviews are like chicken noodle soup you know!

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****Dream Girl****

One thousand years is a long time to wait for a heroine to come in and save you. And when your job requires that you stand at the entrance of the Labyrinth, refusing admittance to all who are unworthy, you don't have much of an opportunity to look on your own. Hoggle had given up.

Oh, when Jareth first banished him to his new life, Hoggle fought it. He hiked his way to his father's kingdom and begged admittance. But no one recognized him. Even his voice had changed—gone was the melodious baritone of his cultured upbringing, in its place was a gravelly grumble that forever sounded like he was congested. So when Hoggle came to the door claiming to be Prince Rameth, the guards threw him out on his rear, chastising him for telling such a bold-faced lie when the king was grieving the loss of his only son. The same happened as he attempted to visit friend after friend. No one would see a vagabond dwarf.

Friendless, dejected, and nursing a bruised tailbone, Hoggle limped his way back to the gatehouse. At least he had a warm place to sleep and eat.

As the years went on, Hoggle grew more and more detached from society. No one outside of the runners would speak to him, and the runners were degrading more often than not. His speech grew rougher, his posture frailer, and his manners coarser out of disuse. He became comfortable in his new skin until even _he_ forgot Prince Rameth. His only joy was the bag of jewels he carried at his waist—a _gift_ from the king. Perhaps it had been given out of spite, but Hoggle treasured them as a reminder that he wasn't always a penniless gatekeeper. Of his former life he remembered little, but he knew that he was more than what he seemed.

Even if no one else did.

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Need.

Love.

When speaking about relationships, the two are synonymous…aren't they?

Sarah said she needed him. _Hoggle_. By name. _'I need you, Hoggle,_' she said. She had hugged him—multiple times—and kissed him. What greater proof of her love did Jareth need?

That rat was probably looking for a loophole to get out of lifting his curse! Going to make her actually say the words, _"I love you, Hoggle." _Well, that wasn't the deal! The deal was that she needed to love him, not that she needed to _say_ she loved him. And she did love him. Didn't she?

Hoggle pondered these thoughts and more as he sat in the corner observing the goblin "victory" party in full swing. Somehow Jareth had left open the portal between the Underground and Above so that Sarah's friends could pass through and communicate with her. Hoggle had never heard of him doing that before. But then again, Sarah was the first runner to make it to the castle so she set the precedence. And she _had_ caught the Goblin King's attention.

"Hoggle, what are you doing over here by yourself? It's a party! Come dance with me," Sarah requested, dragging Hoggle to his feet and forcing him out of his self-imposed pity party. Grabbing his hands, she pulled him to the center of the rug in her bedroom, oblivious to the confused glances the other goblins were sending her way—especially from those who normally littered Jareth's throne room floor. Hoggle noticed and he wanted to stick his tongue out at them. They were just jealous was all.

Sarah and Hoggle's height difference made dancing awkward, but her radiant smile melted his heart and he found himself smiling back shyly. Sarah swayed with him as if he were a child, stretching his arms out alternately in mockery of the dance style known as "the twist" and occasionally turning herself. It could have been deemed emasculating had Sarah not carried an aura of innocence around her like a cloak. Instead, Hoggle focused on her hands in his. She was strong and brave, yet he would do anything to protect her. All that mattered was that she had sought _him_ out of the crowd of "friends". She had chosen Hoggle. Obviously, she loved him.

No matter what that rat, Jareth tried to pull, Hoggle was ready. There was one thing for which Hoggle was certain: Sarah Williams was worth fighting for.

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"_He can't have her,"_ Jareth fumed in his avian form as he flew off into the distant moon, the light cloaking his transition back to the Underground. _"Now more than ever."_

He materialized in the center of his throne room, his clothes changing from the white of his owl cloak to the midnight black of his battle armor in an instant. If _Hoggle_ wanted a fight, Jareth would give him one.

Sarah had been his vision since he first learned of her nearly 10 years earlier. She was a Dreamer—one of those rare individuals who could cross over to his world in her sleep. Most Dreamers went to one of the other kingdoms to visit the more exotic lands of the Underground, only crossing into his realm during a "nightmare". Jareth knew of all their visits—as keeper of the portal, he sensed their passing—but rarely did he bother following them. In their dreamstates they were harmless and not worth the effort.

But Sarah was different. Five year old Sarah dreamed herself into the throne room of the Goblin King.

And smiled.

It was the first genuine smile Jareth had seen in nearly a thousand years and he was immediately infatuated with the child. How could she look _pleased_ in the face of such monsters?

..

'_Hello,' he had whispered cautiously, almost afraid he was imagining the dark haired vision._

'_Hello,' she answered brightly, her voice ringing like an angel's wings through the unusually silent throne room. Her smile increased in her excitement. 'You're _him_, aren't you? You're the Goblin King.'_

_Jareth's eyebrows rose in surprise of her knowledge—she not only smiled when facing goblins, but she actually dreamt herself there on purpose! However he had gathered his wits about him by that time and was able to school his expression to hide his fascination. His voice was full of authority when he responded to her inquiry. 'I am. And you are…?'_

'_Sarah,' she said simply, finally opting to take in her surroundings. Jareth snapped his whip scepter at a few of the goblins who reached in to touch this oddity, already feeling possessive of the child. His subjects took the hint and scattered to the walls, peering down at her from ledge outcroppings, but maintaining their unnatural silence. _

_Sarah looked back at the king, the wonderment on her face never ceasing. 'You're my favorite, you know. Mommy says you're the bad guy, but I don't believe her. Bad guys don't turn the world upside down for the princesses—they just take 'em and lock 'em up in dungeons.' _

_Jareth, of course, had no idea what she was talking about, but he listened with an attentive ear anyway until her dream ended and she disappeared, leaving him enchanted and, if he was honest with himself, terrified that she would never come back. _

..

Yet she had come back. She visited often in her sleep through the years. Eventually Jareth came to understand that a book had been passed down through mother to daughter for centuries, detailing a young girl's journey through the Labyrinth and battling the Goblin King. Although Sarah loved to play the part of the heroine when acting out her little fantasies in the park, her subconscious was fascinated by the kingdom and its king. Too bad the subconscious and the conscious mind didn't speak.

Sarah didn't _know_ him. The little girl whom he'd spent _years_ getting acquainted with was hidden somewhere within that young woman's body. Intellectually he knew dream Sarah and waking Sarah were the same. He'd watched her often enough Above to know that dream Sarah was very similar to how she was awake. But _she_ didn't know _him_! Oh, she recognized him from that damn book, but waking Sarah wasn't aware of their friendship. She had no idea that she had spent nearly every night with him for over ten years. That he had watched her grow from an angelic child into a young lady on the verge of womanhood. And she most definitely wasn't aware of his plans to bring her to him indefinitely when the time was right.

He should have paid closer attention to that book. Until Sarah had wished away Toby, Jareth had assumed it had merely been written by one of the very unlucky visitors to the Labyrinth that actually retained enough fragments of her memory to make an adventure story of it. Fairytales of goblins were abundant, he hadn't worried that this was the first he'd seen mention their king. And even after Sarah called on the goblins, he wasn't overly concerned, however inconvenient it may have been. She was not the first to wish away a child, nor would she be the last.

It wasn't until she spoke the spell that sent her home that he began to worry. All he knew for certain was that only the person to whom he gave his heart could have spoken that spell. No other runner could have opened the gates to the Above—of course, no other runner would have been taken to the portal between worlds. Only a Dreamer could enter there in bodily form and Sarah was the only Dreamer to have challenged the Labyrinth.

Damn that book!

He needed to know how that story came into her family's possession. How did the person who wrote the book know that the Goblin King would fall in love with the girl? Who wrote the spell that made _her_ into another key? And what did they intend do with her now that she had unlocked the portal?

Jareth paced his throne room, the depression that normally accompanied his time in the once resplendent hall magnified tenfold. Did he give his heart to Sarah because she was in possession of that book, or was she given the book because the Fates had already determined he would give her his heart? A man could go crazy chasing those circles!

He kicked a nearby goblin in frustration, though it did little to ease his concern. He didn't consider the action a cruelty. These weren't his citizens, these were shadows of the glorious beings that had been drawn to dwell in his lands. _His_ people had once been the mighty defenders of the Underground, now they were the laughingstocks. There was nothing left within them to remind him of what they once were. _His_ subjects would have been able to protect Sarah from the unknown danger waiting for her. These _goblins_ were incompetent fools.

Damn goblins!

He kicked a little spiky one with bug eyes and watched as it flew through the center of the room…right past Sarah.

He stopped midstride and stared. His Sarah had returned, wearing the billowy white gown from her induced dream. It was the one time during her run that Jareth was able to bring Sarah's subconscious mind to the forefront. For those few minutes, Sarah knew him—or at least, knew that she _should_ know him. And that dream had stuck with her, passing to her subconscious as a pleasant memory.

Sarah smiled as the goblin landed behind her, her eyes twinkling with mirth at the Goblin King's tantrum. With that smile, Jareth's mind calmed. She had returned. That was what he had most feared—should waking Sarah have limitless contact with his subjects, would she still need to come in her dreams? The answer was yes. To see _him_.

Jareth's battle armor melted away to the suit he wore in the ballroom. The goblins disappeared as their king moved closer to his dream girl, drinking in the emerald jewels of her eyes. She didn't look nervous as she had earlier. She knew him. She welcomed his approach as an equal. Dream Sarah was far older than her years. Jareth held her gaze as he began circling her, melting into the dance effortlessly without a word being uttered. They moved in abject silence twirling through an endless waltz, dancing between the stars.

Sarah's waking self may _need_ the coward, but the Goblin King held her heart.

And he was not going to give it up.


	3. Chapter 2

****Graduation****

"_Hoggle, I need you."_

Sarah's voice called to Hoggle like a whisper on a breeze, waking him from his mid-afternoon nap beneath the canopy of a large oak. He sighed, brushing the dirt off his pants as he stood and meandered to the nearest fountain. Any reflective surface would work, but Hoggle hated squeezing through tight places.

It had been 5 ½ years since Sarah journeyed through the Labyrinth and she had yet to say the eagerly anticipated "L" word. Oh, she _needed_ him at least once a week, but if she admired him in any way beyond a friend, she had not found the will to say it.

Hoggle had been tempted to tell her first—get her to admit she loved him by repeating the words as if she were a parrot, but Jareth had visited him shortly after the first goblin victory party and warned him that all their interactions would be monitored closely. She would need to admit her love for him freely, without prompting, in order for Hoggle to be released of his curse. So he waited.

And waited.

For FIVE bloomin' _years_ he waited! Sometimes she would want a friend to visit with her after Toby went to bed when her parents were out for the evening. Or she would call to rehash a disagreement with her stepmother. She called to get a second opinion on colleges. She called to discuss clothing choices.

Basically Hoggle was her best girlfriend in dwarf form.

And as Hoggle jumped in the fountain only to end up dry in her Aboveground apartment, he could see today was going to be another fashion advice kind of day. "Sarah, why do you have a checkerboard on your head?"

Sarah chuckled. "It's not a _checkerboard_. It's a graduation hat," she explained, shoving her arms into a long, black, silk robe of sorts. She buttoned a few buttons at the top over her t-shirt then twirled in place, the bottom opening to reveal her tennis shoes and jeans underneath. "Well? What do you think?"

Hoggle smiled inwardly. He'd been through this with her three years ago when she'd graduated high school and had to give the commencement speech. She was graduating at the top of her class once again—this time an entire year early. Hoggle was bursting with pride. She had worked exceptionally hard. While other young women her age were out attending parties, Sarah took full course loads year round and worked two part-time jobs to pay her rent. It was no wonder she didn't have any close friends besides Hoggle, Ludo, and Didymus—and she rarely even called the others anymore.

But he kept his feelings of immense pride in her accomplishments to himself. It was best to keep their interactions simple—she seemed to prefer it that way. "Yeah, it's all right. I don't know what all the fuss is for though. You paid _them_ so that _you_ could do all the work."

Sarah rolled her eyes and began taking off her robe. "Thanks Hoggle. You're so encouraging." Placing the robe back around the hanger, she stepped into her closet—a curtain rod hanging in the corner of her apartment, hidden behind old, black, flannel sheets hung from the ceiling. "I'm just a bit nervous, you know?" Sarah admitted, her voice muffled slightly as she hung up the robe. "It's not like high school graduation. They are making me stand in front of thousands of people. Granted I will not be giving the commencement speech this time, but still…"

Her voice trailed off and Hoggle felt a twinge of sympathy. In his old life, Hoggle had been accustomed to such attention, but it had been a thousand years of loneliness. The coward in him wanted to tell her to run away. After all, the ceremony wasn't necessary for her graduation; they didn't _need_ her there.

But Sarah wasn't like him. Sarah wasn't a coward. She was a young woman of integrity—brave, good, and honest—a true heroine. Everything he was not. She deserved all the accolades they would send her way.

"Uh, Sarah," Hoggle began as Sarah flopped herself onto her sofa. She opened a bag of chips and began chomping away. How dignified.

"Yes, Hoggle?" Sarah encouraged.

He blushed and began shuffling his feet. He had almost professed his admiration for her, a foolish thing to do to be certain. Not only was Sarah not the type to gush out words of love, causing her great embarrassment, but also, Jareth could be listening. Who knew exactly what the Goblin King would consider "prompting". "Oh, ah, it was nothin'. I just wanted to tell you, you'll do fine."

She smiled, touched by his sentiment, sensing that it held more than he would say. "Thanks, Hoggle."

Silence hung in the air between them, but Sarah's hunger won out before more words could be spoken. The crackling of the bag as she grabbed a handful of greasy goodness was all that was needed to release the tension of the moment.

"So, Hoggle, do you want to stay and watch a movie with me? I finally have a day off and I can't wait to spend it veggin' out." She held the bag out in the universally accepted symbol of 'want some?', and Hoggle took the bait.

"Sure. Why not?" he agreed, reaching his oversized hand into the bag. "What's it gonna be today?"With a handful of the salty snack balanced precariously in his stubby fingers, Hoggle carefully sat beside her on the sofa that she had tucked beneath the loft that held her bed. Her apartment was tiny—even by Aboveground standards. A studio apartment was all she could afford by herself; she had no intention of garnering a roommate. So she lived in 300 square feet of nothing, with loft storage above, and a toilet and walled-in shower hidden in the corner behind a screen. Bookshelves were secured to the walls near the ceiling to maximize floor space and the only chair in the room doubled as a ladder. Definitely not the accommodations of a princess, though that was what she was: a princess in all but title.

"_Gremlins_," Sarah announced as she shoved the tape into the VCR. It was a favorite of hers. Hoggle had long ago determined that it was one of his favorites as well, simply because he enjoyed hearing her laugh adoringly whenever the little mogwai shouted, _'bright light!'_

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in companionable silence, interrupted only by the periodic sound of a crackling bag. Halfway through the movie, Sarah drifted off to sleep, her head coming to rest upon Hoggle's shoulder. It was not the first time she'd slept in his presence, but she'd never used him as a pillow before. The rest of Sarah's body lay curled up on the couch in an awkward position; he knew she could not sleep long as she was, but he would take all the contact that he could get. Gently, so as not to wake her, Hoggle laid his cheek on top of her head and prepared to pretend to be asleep should she wake. He relished the fact that she felt so comfortable with him—just one more sign of her love.

…

…

_"Well, that's the story. So if your air conditioner goes on the fritz _

_or your washing machine blows up or your video recorder conks out. _

_Before you call the repairman, turn o…"_

Without warning, everything went dark save for the faint stream of light coming from the solar-powered streetlamp outside. It shone through a crack in her curtains, making a spotlight on Sarah's face and causing her pale skin to glow faintly. Hoggle groaned inwardly and debated with himself. It was not unusual for Sarah's apartment building to have a power outage, but it could be most inconvenient. He had intended to feign slumber when she awoke so that she had the opportunity to pretend she hadn't slept on his shoulder should the idea embarrass her, but waking in the dark in such a relaxed position would be awkward for her. Better to rouse her and move away quickly than risk added discomfort between them.

"Uh, Sarah?" Hoggle said softly, nudging her head gently with his shoulder. In her utter exhaustion, she didn't move.

He sighed. He would have enjoyed having the opportunity to observe her undisturbed for a little while longer, yet it was a bittersweet feeling as he was once again reminded of how repulsive and utterly undeserving he was to even be in her presence. He suddenly felt unworthy to be used as a pillow.

With renewed determination, he tried a bit harder. "Sarah. You need to wake up. You fell asleep and the lights went out." Moving his shoulder more aggressively, he attempted to wiggle out from beneath her. Unfortunately, his arm had fallen asleep making it difficult to move. He didn't want her to fall, but his functional arm was too short to catch her fully from her current angle. Despite the amount of movement on his end, she remained still.

Hoggle was growing concerned. He pulled his arm away and she fell, lifeless, into his lap. "Sarah?" Hoggle shook her shoulder. Nothing.

Sliding out from beneath her head, Hoggle began to grow panicked. "Sarah!" he called, touching her cheek. At the briefest touch, he yanked his hand away, nursing a burn. It was impossible! How could her skin be so hot?

Behind him, Hoggle heard a scrape as if a metal hook was being drug across the wall, ripping it open. He squinted, attempting to make out a shape within the darkness, but nothing was there. The building began to shake and still Sarah slumbered, though Hoggle could see enough of her face now to know that she was not sleeping peacefully. It was now obvious that the faint glow on Sarah's skin came from _her_ and not from an external source. Something was happening and Hoggle knew well that he was unequipped to help in this strange world. There was only one thing he could do, though he was loathe to try.

"Jareth," he called, as if speaking to someone across the room rather than across dimensions, "the Portal King is needed here. Now."

Though nothing audible happened, Hoggle was suddenly aware of a presence behind him. The building immediately stopped shaking. Hoggle didn't have to turn to know that his request had been granted.

"Hello, Hogwart. What have we here? It seems you have gotten yourself into a bit of trouble." The silky smooth baritone held the biting edge that was typical of the Goblin King. It shouldn't have surprised him at the speed in which Jareth arrived—he had probably been watching them the entire time—and yet it worried him. If it hadn't been a serious issue, Hoggle had no doubt that the king would not have appeared. His sudden arrival set Hoggle's hair on end.

"Your Majesty," Hoggle said, attempting to infuse the proper amount of respect into his voice. It was hard. "Something is happening here. Sarah is burning up, the building was shaking, and I could swear I heard the wall opening behind me. As gatekeeper to the Portal Kingdom, I thought you should be made aware of the situation."

"Well aren't you the brave one," the Goblin King sneered. "And what of the girl?"

"She's glowing, your Majesty!" Hoggle practically yelled in exasperation, as he stabbed his thick fingers in Sarah's direction. Wasn't it obvious that there was something wrong with her?

Jareth glared at Hoggle as if he were some great simpleton. "Yes, I am aware of her present condition. My question was merely to ascertain why it mattered to _you_. You must have known she was a key. How else do you think you traversed worlds so effortlessly? It was through no assistance on my part, I assure you. And you have abused her position. It was only a matter of time before the role you thrust upon her became too much."

"Your Majesty…" Hoggle began only to be cut off as the Goblin King thrust his gloved hand at him.

"Enough! Your presence is no longer required." With a flip of Jareth's hand, Hoggle found himself standing next to the fountain at the entrance to the Labyrinth.

And he was livid.

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**A/N**: So, I really had every intention of getting this up sooner, but I've been busy—some bad things (family drama, illness, playing catch up) mixed in with some really good things (a CRUISE to celebrate my 10 year anniversary, my parents visiting, BABY GOATS being born…mixed blessing that one because we lost a mama goat in the process to birth complications, but we now have five new babies and they are ADORABLE!)—so, life happened. I am unfortunately a woman with too many passions and not enough time.

(FYI…for those of you who are curious, I am a caretaker of a hobby farm for developmentally disabled adults and care for 5 horses, 12 goats, 16 chickens, 3 dogs, 1 cat and 1 chinchilla…plus I homeschool my four small children and in my spare time, I teach musical theater twice a week…and that's my life in a nutshell…)

But enough about ME…**YOU all are fantastic!** I cannot tell you how much all your reviews/favorites/alerts have meant to me. Thank you so much for your encouragement. **Poptart**, your chosen name made me smile. Since I couldn't PM you, I will say thank you for your kind words here. Thank you!

I will do my very best to update sooner than 3 months (where has the time gone?), but I can't promise it in a week or even two. One thing I will promise, I will complete this story eventually. I hate reading fics that have been dropped and I won't do that to you. So be patient…it will happen . Now off to work on the next chapter…


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